26October2025
It feels strange to put these thoughts down, but today the weight of the past weeks finally settled into something I can look at without being knocked flat. Ive known Peter Peterson since we were lads in the backstreets of Manchester, and it sometimes seems as if our friendship stretches back a hundred years. Yet, standing there now, the years feel heavier than ever.
Simon, I get where youre coming from, but think about your age, Peter said, a grin tugging at his mouth as he eyed the silver in my beard. What am I supposed to do? I was a manager once, and now you want me to haul pallets? Give it a thought, will you?
I gave a short nod, feeling the familiar sting of denial. Hang in there, Pete. Ill ring you if something decent pops up. Dont get down on yourself, old chap. Well get through this, he called out as he walked away, his voice echoing down the parking lot.
It wasnt the first time Id heard a no in the past fortnight. Ive become oddly accustomed to the sting, learning to hold my breath and keep my composure, even though the first few refusals left me feeling utterly defeated. As they say, a friend is known in trouble.
I spent most of my career climbing the corporate ladder, holding several senior positions. I made many acquaintances along the way, but when the real challenges arrived, the crowd seemed to evaporate.
Just as it often goes, a new boss arrived with his own team, and politely but firmly, they asked me to hand in a notice of resignation. Retirement was only a few months away, yet it mattered to no one. Suddenly, I found myself without a prestigious job, without the steady income Id grown accustomed to.
Still, I wasnt about to let despair win. In Manchester I have a long list of people Ive helped over the yearsfinding jobs, sorting out university applications, untangling all sorts of messes. Kirby wont say no to me now, I helped him out when he needed a hand, I told my wife, Lucy, as I set off for yet another interview.
The interview left me more grim than hopeful. Friend, thats the name of it, Lucy sighed, seeing the frustration etched across my face.
She set the table, her voice gentle. Sit down, love. Whatever happens, its for the best. I nodded, then spent the evening scrolling through my phone, looking at the contacts of my best friends.
Help arrived when I was almost ready to throw in the towel. An old colleague, once my driver and now the director of a modest meatprocessing plant on the outskirts of town, took me aside. I could use a supply manager. Its a busy job, but youll manage, he said, offering a polite smile.
Any work was a blessing, so the very next day I reported for duty. The plant sat behind a tall chainlink fence, where two burly workers were unloading crates of meat from a lorry. Not far away, a small gang of local cats watched the spectacle with an air of solemn vigilance.
I caught sight of the striped felines as they trotted past, their whiskered faces twitching in unison, escorting each new delivery of goodies. Later I learned that the whole factory grounds were effectively a catkingdom, an unwelcoming territory for outsiders.
The cats were a peculiar bunch, each with a touch of wildness and a generally aloof temperament. Every time I tried to pet a striped tabby, it would either flinch or hiss. Those tough little lads, I chuckled, watching Chef Zoe haul away lunch remnants for the crew. They dont really take kindly to strangers. She nodded toward a pair of playful kittens, noting, Even the kittens arent much for cuddles.
Weeks passed and I got the hang of the job, learning the names of every feline resident. They, in turn, grew a tentative trust in the greying man who often slipped them bits of food. I never owned a pet at home, but Ive always loved animals and tried to look after them when I could.
Whenever I stepped outside for a smoke break, the cats would circle me slowly, eyes fixed on my hands, as if trying to gauge whether I had anything worth sharing. Time flew, and before I knew it, half a year had slipped by.
Autumn arrived with its chilly winds and grey drizzle. The cats hid more often, but never missed a mealtime. One day a lone kitten appeared near the loading docksmall, gaunt, black, with a bald patch on its back. The resident gang kept its distance, neither attacking nor adopting it.
Something about that frail creature tugged at my heart. I was on my usual postlunch cigarette when, out of nowhere, the tiny black bundle hopped straight onto my lap. Meow, it rasped, sneezing a little. Whats this marvel? I asked the other cats, who simply looked on indifferently. Their striped coats and bright eyes contrasted sharply with the newcomers gloom.
The kitten, clearly an outsider, rubbed against my boot and began to purr. Look at you, youre a softie, I murmured, smiling. Zoe, the kitchen witch, muttered, Looks like someone tossed a stray in here. The gangs not keen on him, but hes cute enough.
I was wary; the gang could have turned on the little thing at any moment. I fetched a slice of sausage and placed it a short distance away for the others, then moved closer to the kitten, offering him a larger piece. He lingered, nudging against my hand before finally gulping down his share.
From that moment, I named him Pastry for his sweet, buttery demeanor. Lucy raised an eyebrow when I told her I was now feeding a cat at work. Whats the plan? Take him home? she asked. No, we cant have a cat in the flat, I replied, a little embarrassed.
The next morning, as I trudged to the plant under a bleak sky, a familiar voice called out, Oi, Simon! Good to see you! It was Peter, his breath forming little clouds in the cold. Found any work yet? he asked, extending a hand. I looked at his hand, clenched it in my pocket, and kept walking. Our friendship had become a thin veneer over years of mutual reliance.
Peter laughed, Youre a wild one, and hopped into his car, speeding away before I could say more. The cat, perched on a wooden board by the entrance, shivered as the wind whipped his black fur into a bristling coat.
I muttered, They wont let you in, will they? Little beast, as I passed the makeshift shelter where the gang of cats huddled, their eyes glinting yellow in the gloom, waiting to see if Id bring any food.
Later that day the radio warned of an impending snowstorm. They say its going to be a proper whiteout tomorrow, the weather presenter said. The driver of the delivery van, Dave, offered to give me a lift home. What do you say, Sam? You could head back to the plant first, he suggested as the first flakes began to fall.
Just take me to the factory, I replied, feeling a strange pull to stay close to the place that was becoming my new world. Dave shrugged and turned the wheel, chuckling, Missing work, are we?
Snow soon covered the ground in a thin blanket. I rushed back to the yard where Pastry usually perched, shouting, Pastry! Pastry! but the kitten didnt answer. The other cats watched me, their ears perked, as I called out into the white silence.
Soon flocks of crows settled on the fence, eyeing the scene with curious beaks. The snow kept falling, muffling every sound. Where have you gone, you little rascal? I cried, looking around. The gang retreated into their shelter, realizing there would be no treats for them today.
By morning, as the forecast had promised, the city was buried under a thick layer of snow. The streets were a maze of drifts, and even the most diligent street cleaners struggled to keep the pathways clear. I arrived at work a little late, like everyone else, but the cats were already poking their heads out of their little haven, eyes bright with anticipation.
I placed a bowl of leftover sausages on the ground and whispered, Here you go, Pastry sends his regards. Their reactions were a mix of cautious sniffing and sudden rushes toward the meat. I felt a warm glow inside, reminiscent of childhood trips up a hill with mum and dad. Perhaps it was the snow, or perhaps it was the simple joy of seeing those tiny creatures finally eat.
When the day ended, the gang gathered around me as I packed up. Pastry, now a bit plumper, leapt onto my shoulder, his little paws gripping my coat. Youve finally found a friend, havent you? Lucy asked, a teasing glint in her eye as she saw me at the doorstep with the cat.
I suppose I have, I answered, letting Pastry slip into my arms. He sniffed the air, his whiskers twitching as he explored this new terrain.
The next few weeks became a routine of work, smoke breaks, and feeding the felines. The bond between a grizzled man and a tiny black kitten grew stronger. It wasnt the typical human friendship, but in its own way it was pureno deceit, no betrayal, just a quiet loyalty that kept us both warm on the coldest days.
Now, as I sit by the kitchen window watching the snow drift past, I think about how life can turn in the most unexpected directions. I lost a respectable career, but I gained a purpose. I lost many acquaintances, yet I found a small, furry companion that trusts me more than any former colleague.
Perhaps this is what friendship really looks like when the world is cold: a shared warmth, a simple offering of meat, and the knowledge that, no matter how harsh the winter, theres always a little softness waiting to be discovered. And for that, Im grateful.
